


put this love on to simmer

by perfectlyrose



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Food, M/M, Romance, Veteran Shiro (Voltron), surprisingly chili cookoffs don't have their own tag but that's a Thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29074251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlyrose/pseuds/perfectlyrose
Summary: Shiro tells everyone who asks that signing up to participate in the annual chili cookoff was done on a whim. They don’t need to know that it took him two weeks to decide to do it, another three days to actually fill out the online form, and an additional day to muster up the courage to actually hit submit. They also don’t need to know that he almost hoped that his computer would time out and erase all evidence of this idea.Shiro enters a chili cookoff mostly to prove to himself (and his therapist) that he can. He doesn't expect to meet a handsome competition judge, and he certainly doesn't expect for something other than chili to start simmering between them.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 81
Collections: Sheith Cookbook





	put this love on to simmer

**Author's Note:**

> written for All Good Things: Sheith Cookbook

Shiro tells everyone who asks that signing up to participate in the annual chili cookoff was done on a whim. They don’t need to know that it took him two weeks to decide to do it, another three days to actually fill out the online form, and an additional day to muster up the courage to actually hit submit. They also don’t need to know that he almost hoped that his computer would time out and erase all evidence of this idea.

The form goes through and thirty seconds later he has a confirmation email in his inbox, thanking him for signing up and promising more details in the weeks to come.

At least his therapist will be proud of him, he thinks. Learning to cook for himself has been part of his recovery since he came home from the war down an arm and up a few diagnoses in the mental health department. 

Before everything, Shiro had a reputation with his friends and his partner for being an abysmal cook. He’d played it up and pouted and let others cook for him, always too busy and too content with the situation to bother learning himself.

But he’d come back to an empty house and a too-large kitchen he didn’t know how to use. Delivery drivers started to recognize him with the amount of takeout he ordered and  _ that _ spurred a conversation with his therapist. She helped him come to the realization that while before having others cook for him or ordering food was a way for him to let people take care of him and help him, now it was just making him helpless.

So his homework started including basic cooking. His physical therapist was enthusiastic about it too, saying that chopping and stirring and other cooking actions were perfect for helping him improve his fine motor skills with his new prosthetic.

He found he particularly enjoyed soups and stews, especially as the nights cooled. They were easy recipes to tweak and if he chopped things inconsistently, it didn’t matter. He rather thought it added to the charm of homemade soup.

Chili was an experiment that he threw himself into after some soup he tried failed abysmally, turning out burnt and somehow sour. Most food blogs he followed seemed to be posting chili recipes as fall swept in and Shiro was intrigued by the sheer variety in the recipes.

He ended up hooked, combining bits and pieces of recipes and ideas of his own, born from his slowly burgeoning culinary confidence, until he had a chili recipe all his own that he was proud of.

And now he was taking it to a chili cookoff. God help him.

//

Shiro really wants to have a talk with whoever decided that chili cookoffs must be scheduled when summer still has a stranglehold on the desert instead of during a cooler month. The day already qualifies as over-warm and the temperature is only going to rise as morning fades away. Everyone has a canopy set up over their stations, but Shiro has a sneaking suspicion that they will simply trap the heat before too long.

He carefully sets out his ingredients, organizing his workspace the way he practiced. His hands are shaking. It’s the first time he’s cooked outside of his own kitchen and it’s more intimidating than he thought it would be, knowing that there could be people  _ watching _ him do this.

Shiro takes a few deep breaths, focuses on the chatter around him from cookoff regulars and old friends, on the trashtalk emanating from those truly competing to win and those just wanting to heckle their neighbors.

His hands steady and he picks up his knife to start chopping his vegetables.

He can do this. He made this chili all winter, all spring and into the summer. He gave it to everyone he could possibly feed as he tweaked recipe after recipe. Giving it to strangers who are here to enjoy chili will be fine.

He’s only taking part in the amateur competition. It’s judged mostly by the public who can come by and taste the different chilis, but the official judges will also make their rounds after they judge the actual professionals to give opinions as well.

Shiro’s only slightly nervous about that.

Maybe a lot nervous. He continues his cold prep, making neat piles of onions and garlic and peppers.

It’s fine.

A voice comes over the loudspeakers, announcing that competitors can turn on their stoves. His heart trips over itself as his nerves spike, but his hand doesn’t shake as he reaches over and turns on the heat.

//

The collective heat of portable stoves under tents and the smell of spice in the late summer air is familiarly oppressive. Keith wanders the competition area, taking in the sights and smells, his judge’s badge stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans to avoid suspicion. Here in the amateur section, he’s not likely to be recognized, especially without the badge. He’s just another member of the public, not a semi-feared, semi-respected judge on the national chili competition circuit.

Regular competitors know him to be a hard judge to impress. He can handle whatever heat they throw at him and is open to interesting variations as well as traditional chili. He’s heard them talk about how sparing he is with praise and his refusal to play the politics of the competition circuit. He’s not particularly beloved by those he judges.

Keith slows to watch one of the amateurs quickly chop more onions and peppers after an initial taste check. He is always more impressed by the amateurs out here doing this for fun than the arrogant professionals he deals with regularly. There are a few good people on the circuit, but mostly they just exhaust him.

He wends his way through the crowd, approaching a table where people seem to be slowing down to look at a competitor or table. Keith is expecting a gaudily decorated booth, something the amateur competition encourages, but when he is finally able to see through the press of bodies he is greeted with an unadorned, standard competition table.

It’s not hard to see what has people staring though. The man behind the table, endearingly focused on his chili, is  _ gorgeous _ . He’s tall and muscled and there’s a hint of a smile on his pretty lips, tucked into the corners of his mouth as he peers into his chili pot. A tuft of white hair falls over his forehead. His white t-shirt looks painted on and is starting to go translucent. It would be indecent if not mostly covered by a black apron and Keith doesn’t think he’s ever wished harm upon an apron before but…he is experiencing that now.

He slowly works his way closer to the table without making a conscious decision to do so. He’s just stepped up to the metal work table when the competitor looks up, grey eyes locking with Keith’s. The hidden almost-smile blooms into a grin that’s disarmingly sweet on a man who is 6’4’’ if he’s an inch and whose biceps are as big as Keith’s thighs, probably. Keith can do nothing but offer a smile back, horribly awkward and insufficient but his heart is trying to escape his chest and it’s the best he can do.

Keith lets the crowd pull him onto the next table, telling himself that he’s imagining the weight of a certain pair of eyes on him as he leaves. He really hopes that the man’s chili tastes as good as he looks. He could certainly use a win like that today.

//

Shiro is finding it easier than he thought it would be to block out the crowd and just focus on cooking. If he doesn’t make eye contact, most people won’t try to talk to him. He’s not sure what finally makes him look up, but he lifts his gaze and he's met with a pair of almost violet eyes looking right back. Shiro’s breath catches and he smiles automatically. The man on the other side of his work table is beautiful, all sharp angles and soft mouth and something kind in his eyes. He’s lithe and lean, dressed casually in a dark red t-shirt that clings just enough to show off his waist and leaves toned arms bared.

Shiro’s mouth is absolutely not working, not even as the man flashes him a smile and continues on, swept away by the unforgiving crowd. He watches him until he’s fully out of sight before sighing and going back to obsessively watching his chili. The world is generally not kind enough for him to think that the man will come back around.

He hopes he comes back to try his chili later anyways.

//

Shiro is bone tired and he’s running out of sample cups to hand out. He thinks that’s a good thing, but there’s still a lot of chili in his pot. His smile feels worn thin as he urges people to try his chili but people keep smiling back and taking the little plastic cups. Some of them have even complimented his recipe and Shiro’s thrilled by that. This is possibly his best batch yet and maybe it’s nothing spectacular, but it’s  _ good _ and he’s proud of it.

The news that the judges have entered the amateur area to start tasting spreads like hushed wildfire. Shiro takes a deep breath, sets out four cups, and waits for his turn.

//

Keith is trying not to be impatient as he makes his way through the amateur tables. He wants to go straight to the table with the gorgeous man but he makes himself take his usual route, working from the outside in. He pays attention to the competitors, dispenses encouraging words and bits of advice as he tastes everyone's offerings and pretends not to be in a hurry.

Finally, he sees the table he’s been working towards at the end of the row. Sanda is there already, stone-faced as she tries his chili. She doesn’t react, but she rarely does. Keith forcibly turns his attention to the current table and then the next. Then he’s standing in front of the man again and they’re staring at each other. Again.

“You’re a judge,” the man says, eyes flicking down to the badge now hanging around Keith’s neck. His voice is deep, smooth.

Keith offers a half-smile. “Yeah, don’t like to advertise it before I have to. People tend to get weird.”

The man snorts. “Imagine that.”

Keith leans closer and takes a deep breath. The chili smells  _ good _ . “So, you going to let me have a taste?”

He watches as the man blushes, his cheeks and ears turning a delicate pink. It highlights the scar across his nose and Keith wants to reach out and  _ touch _ .

“Of course,” the man says. 

He quickly picks up a sample cup and spoons chili into it. The hand that extends the cup glints in the afternoon light. Their fingers brush as Keith takes it, warm metal on warm skin.

Keith wants to  _ be touched _ by those fingers, by this man. A blush of his own follows that thought and he tucks his chin, letting his bangs provide some cover.

He inhales the steam wafting up from the chili and the scent tickles something at the back of his mind. He tries not to get his hopes up as he lifts the spoon to his mouth.

Flavor bursts over his tongue, and Keith’s head snaps up to meet the man’s eyes again. It’s not the most complex chili or the hottest or the most innovative. It’s not a chili recipe that will win competitions, but it tastes like  _ home _ .

What Keith has never told the interviewers who try to pry into his personal life is that he got into the chili world because his dad always made chili on the nights the desert got too cold to bear and blankets weren’t enough to keep the chill from their bones. It was always warm and filling and Keith’s favorite thing in the world.

Keith’s dad died before Keith learned how to make it himself and his dad had never written down the recipe.

In all his years on the competition circuit, of trying countless recipes, Keith has never found the right chili. Until now.

The man is watching him, barely concealed worry on his face.

//

Shiro watches with concern as the judge—Keith according to his badge—appears to blink back tears after trying his chili. He knows it’s not that hot and neither good nor bad enough to induce tears.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Keith’s voice cracks down the middle of the word and he laughs. “Well, that wasn’t convincing.”

“Not particularly,” Shiro agrees. “Chili that bad? Be gentle, it’s my first cook-off.”

Keith smiles and it’s like dawn breaking over the desert. Shiro is smitten.

“It’s perfect,” Keith says. “It tastes like my dad’s. I’ve been looking for…” He cuts off with a shake of his head. “I haven’t tasted anything so close since…”

Shiro can read between the lines here. He knows what it’s like to lose family and their unique ways of sharing love. “I’m happy to give you the recipe,” he says quietly, “if you would like it.”

“I’d like that a lot,” Keith says. “It would mean a lot to me.”

“Come back when everything’s over?” Shiro suggests. “I can write it down for you.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I finish my rounds in here,” Keith promises. “Sanda might murder me if I skip out before finishing.”

Shiro laughs. “Well, don’t get in trouble on my account.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “I have a feeling you’d be worth it.”

Shiro can feel his whole face heat up and harbors a wild hope that his blush can be blamed on the heat. Keith grins and walks on to the next table, taking Shiro’s attention with him.

//

Keith has made it through three more tables when he realizes that he never got the man’s name. The rest of his tastings drag on in an excruciating fashion no matter how much he tries to speed up the process.

Finally, he turns in the unofficial judge ballot after visiting the last table and hurries back to the man’s table. The crowd has started funneling out towards the stage where there will be live music and then the announcement of the results, so it’s easier to navigate the cookoff area. The man is still there, slowly cleaning up his station and packing things away. There’s exhaustion in the line of his shoulders. Keith can empathize, it’s been a long day for everyone.

“So, I realized right after I walked away that I never asked your name.”

The man’s head whips up, a warm grin immediately on his lips. “You’re back!”

Keith chuckles. “Told you I would be.” He sticks his hands in his pockets, unsure what to do with them. “Does that maybe earn me your name?”

“Takashi Shirogane,” he says. “But everyone calls me Shiro.”

Keith rolls the name Takashi around his head, thinks that it would feel nice on his tongue, but sets it aside for later. “Shiro,” he repeats. “Nice to meet you.”

“You as well, Keith.”

Keith startles and it draws a laugh from Shiro, who nods at his chest. “Judge badges are good for something.”

“One thing only,” Keith quips. He pulls the badge off and stuffs it in his back pocket. “Keith Kogane, by the way, since you gave your whole name.”

“Now we officially know each other,” Shiro says, completely straight-faced.

“Sure do,” Keith retorts. “So, about that recipe?”

Shiro bites his lip. It’s honestly unfair how a man so objectively hot can also be  _ adorable _ . “Okay, so, I haven’t actually had time to write it down yet. So I can either do that for you real quick while you wait or…”

“Or?” This sounds promising.

“Or you could let me take you to get coffee or dinner or something and I can write it down for you then.” Shiro’s ears are bright red and Keith has never seen anything cuter in his entire life.

“Finish packing up, Shiro,” Keith says, barely containing his smile. “Then pick wherever you want me to buy you dinner.”

Keith has a moment to savor the pleased and surprised expression on Shiro’s face before he immediately starts arguing about who is going to be paying for dinner. Keith has to laugh. It’s so  _ easy _ with this man who should be nothing more than a stranger who makes his chili taste like Keith’s childhood memories. He feels like an old friend though, like a missing piece come home.

Keith is going to buy him as many dinners as he can get away with. Maybe he can convince Shiro to pay him back with quiet meals at home, just the two of them and infused with the love he thinks might have started to simmer at first sight.

For now, he helps Shiro pack up and learns the rhythm of their teasing and the first snippets of Shiro’s story and offers some of his own. By the time they leave, it feels easy, natural, to slip his hand into Shiro’s and hold on.

//

(His chili might not have won any awards, Shiro thinks later as he watches Keith laugh across the table at the tiny Japanese place down the road from the cookoff site, but he thinks it won him a much better prize.)

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/LionessNapping)!


End file.
